Today I made the most indulgent purchase of my life. Here, I'm defining indulgence as (price x emotional kick)/(market value x personal necessity). The purchase was the most beautiful copy of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man ever. Really, ever. The price? $13...over my $50 of gift certificates. YEAH. So that was probably stupid to blow about 7 books on one. But it's great. It's beautifully elegant...just a white cover with the title and author in black type. No dedication, no annotation, no about the author, and most importantly, no introduction from Harold Bloom or Samuel Beckett or Pompous Schmuck-Jerkoff. It's just the text. Black on white, take it as you will, your imagination sets the mood. $63 isn't bad...for love! (as I hear, the going rate's about $200)
And in further news, Phase 1 of Operation Stealth Infiltration of the Adult World (yes, OSIAW's a crappy acronym) is complete, woo! Yeah, that was cryptic, but, like so many parts of this blog, it's public to everybody save one or two people in the world. More thoughtful things some other time...
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